


The hell, Spenser?

by strandedchesspiece



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Action, Brothers, Clay whump, Fatherly Jason, Hurt Clay, Hurt Clay Spenser, Hurt/Comfort, SEAL Team Week 2020, Sick Clay, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22224787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece/pseuds/strandedchesspiece
Summary: Three times Clay thought he was okay, but actually wasn't.AKA my contribution to Seal Team Week.(AKA an excuse for more Clay whump) :)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 215





	1. Jason + Romance

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of 3 one-shots, following the first 3 days of Seal Team Week :) I chose to use both prompts for each day – Jason/Romance, Clay/Trapped, and Sonny/Whump. I don't have any plans to expand upon any of these.
> 
> I had originally planned to do all 7 days, but real life got a little hectic with the summer from hell – my country is on fire, my local community is devastated, but thankfully my family, myself, my dog, and my house are all in one piece. For that I am extremely grateful.
> 
> Hopefully everyone else had a lovely Christmas and New Year!
> 
> The usual disclaimer – I don't own them, blah blah. I have zero medical knowledge, and am aware that I have possibly stretched reality just slightly in the second chapter, but hopefully you'll forgive me for the sake of that story! All these are set around the beginning of Season Three, but without Metal or Vic (not that I have anything against those two), and before Jason and Natalie. Oh, and in the first one I've taken the liberty of giving Jason a couch at his place :)
> 
> Thanks again for reading! And thanks to those who suggested and organized Seal Team Week - I'm really looking forward to doing some reading and seeing what others have come up with! :)

Jason fumbled at the sink, opening two cold bottles of beer. The caps bounced against the metal dish strainer with a clink-clink.

He could feel the weight of his guest's gaze upon him. Found himself wishing like hell he'd taken Emma's advice and had invested in some homewares; a couple of wine glasses. A handy bottle of wine.

He swallowed jaggedly, forcing a smile as he turned back towards the leggy brunette perched uncomfortably upon the edge of his ratty couch.

What the fuck had he been thinking, playing along with her flirtations at the bar?

And inviting her back here, of all places.

He wanted to go back in time, make some better decisions. Perhaps just come home after he and his team had left the base, raw from their most recent op.

Coming home to bed would have been the wise thing to do - not hitting up the local bar.

He obviously hadn't been thinking straight.

Now, he was full of regrets and hesitantly making his way across his depressing excuse for a house - a bottle in each hand, out of his depth and floundering.

She accepted the bottle politely, a twinkle in her eye.

Sarah. Her name was Sarah.

Wait.

No.

It was Sonia.

Jason felt his cheeks flush, unable to recall which was correct. Took a long swig from his bottle, disguising his embarrassment. Shifted uneasily. Lingered by the couch.

Realized he was lingering.

Plopped his ass down quickly so as not to appear awkward.

Oh God, he was screwing this up so badly. This was the worst idea he had ever had. He squeezed a smile at SarahSonia, tried not to flinch as she shuffled closer, pressing her thigh against his, bumping his shoulder.

"Nice place you got here," she offered, smiling around the lie and the mouth of her bottle. Took a gentle sip.

Jason didn't miss her slight cringe. But whether it was a result of his less-than-ideal living space, or the beer, he couldn't be sure. Possibly both. She didn't strike him as a beer drinker, but it was all he had.

Nerves forced a small laugh. He rubbed a hand over his stubble - realized he hadn't shaved all week. "Thanks," he replied. Wilted internally at his lame answer. Tried to find something less lame to follow it up.

Drew a blank.

A beat of silence passed between them. Jason knew he should make a move. Do something.

Anything.

But he was frozen.

Sonny would laugh his ass off, if he were here.

SarahSonia gazed at him longingly. Ran a finger along his jaw line, pulled him in for a kiss.

Jason went through the motions. Mechanically returned the kiss. Felt guilty that his mind was a thousand miles away.

He hadn't dated anyone since Alana had died. Hell, he hadn't even had a one-night stand. What in God's name was he thinking tonight?

He'd been trying for 'normal', that's what he'd been doing. Attempting to get back on the horse, so to speak.

Yeah, well. Maybe his horse was too old and tired, battered and bruised. A cranky old mule that didn't want to be ridden anymore.

He pulled his lips back and offered an apologetic smile to SarahSonia, felt bad because she had expected more of him. Wondered how he could politely push her out the door.

He wasn't ready for this.

Perhaps he would never be ready.

Perhaps that was okay.

She quirked an eyebrow and a lip at the same time, obviously confused by his lack of enthusiasm. Disappointment danced briefly over her features, closely followed by a hint of embarrassment.

Jason released a breath, fished for something civil to say. Opened his mouth to apologize, offer to call her a cab – but an abrupt knock on his door stole his words.

They both blinked across the room, attention snagged by the interruption.

Jason glanced at the clock – twelve thirty AM. Felt anxiety tingle through his gut as he placed his bottle down on the floor, pushed up from the couch; SarahSonia forgotten as he made his way across the room.

His thoughts immediately skipped to the day he'd received that dreaded knock on the door, when Alana had died. His heartrate increased, fresh worry sparking through him as he thought of receiving similar news - about Emma, or Mikey.

He paused briefly by the door, mouth suddenly dry. Gripped the handle. Took a steadying breath.

Yanked it open.

Relief flooded through him as he realized it wasn't an officer, delivering an earth-shattering blow.

But it was short lived, as his brain caught up with the sight before him.

Clay leaned heavily against the door frame, pale and sweating, eyes glazed.

Reflexively, Jason reached out and snaked an arm around the young man's middle, taking his weight and pulling him away from the doorframe. "The hell, Spenser?" he muttered, shocked by the heat he felt through Clay's shirt, the tremors that ran through him.

Clay's gaze swam, and he tried, but failed, to walk across the threshold under his own steam. "I'm, uh…" he started, words slurred. Cast Jason an apologetic look. "Not feeling so great."

Jason juggled his rookie's weight, practically dragged him inside, kicking the door closed behind them.

SarahSonia launched from the couch at the sight of Clay, her eyes wide. She reached for her phone. "Is he okay?" She asked worriedly. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Jason waved her off, deposited Clay onto the now vacant couch. Grabbed a pillow and shoved it under the younger man's head as he toppled sideways. Scooped his legs up and lay him flat on his side.

Clay's unfocused gaze traveled to SarahSonia, back to Jason. For a moment he looked embarrassed. "Shit," he breathed. "Sorry. I didn't realize -"

But Jason cut him off, squatting beside his head, holding a finger to his pulse point, gauging his temperature at the same time. He exhaled through his nose, speared Clay with a stern look. "When did the fever start?" He asked quietly.

Clay shrank slightly, like a child being scolded. "Uh, after I got home," he replied, swallowing roughly, teeth chattering.

Jason shook his head. Glanced behind him at SarahSonia. "You think you could grab me that blanket from the bed?"

She gave a clipped nod and hurried across the room.

Jason took the opportunity to lift Clay's left shirt sleeve, peek under the bandage wrapped around his bicep. Winced as he noted the bullet graze looking pinker and angrier than it had when Trent had checked it five hours earlier. "You take the antibiotics Trent gave you?" He questioned. Gently rolled the sleeve back down.

Clay nodded stiffly.

Jason kicked himself for allowing Clay to go home alone. The kid had assured them he would be fine. Jason should have known better.

Clay winced, swallowed convulsively. Eyes fluttered open. "Oh, God, I, uh …"

Jason knew that look. He lunged for the trash can, returning just in time for Clay to lean off the couch and throw up the scant contents of his stomach.

Jason wanted to be angry, he really did. But Clay got this look about him when he was sick or injured, and it tugged at Jason's fatherly instincts. Now wasn't the time for a lecture. He placed the trash can down, carefully helped Clay back onto the couch. Gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

SarahSonia was standing nearby, clutching the blanket, looking slightly green.

Jason stepped over to her. Gratefully took the blanket. Draped it over his trembling boy.

Clay's eyes were closed again, and he was a shade paler than before – if that was even possible. Unruly blonde curls stuck to his sweaty forehead.

Jason swallowed back worry, made his way across to the kitchen. He fished a clean cloth from under the sink and ran cold water over it, squeezing it out and returning to Clay's side. He draped it carefully across Clay's forehead, brushing the curls aside.

"I, uh -" SarahSonia hovered awkwardly, clutching her phone once again. "Is there anything I can do?"

Jason straightened, feeling genuinely bad for how their evening had turned out. He felt that he owed her some sort of explanation. His eyes darted back to Clay. "No thanks," he answered. "I got this."

That was a lie, obviously – this was far from okay, but he would deal with it once she was gone.

"He's, um -" Jason started. Waved at Clay. "He's my son." He stumbled slightly over the last word, felt his cheeks flush.

Not entirely honest, but also not miles from the truth.

He stepped closer to her, lowered his voice. "Bit of a problem child, you know." Now that was the truth. "Drinking problem."

SarahSonia's expression betrayed her emotions - a hint of confusion, a splinter of disappointment.

Jason hadn't mentioned that he had children. Now, seeing her reaction to his 'kid', he felt a little less guilty that their night had gone so terribly.

"Can I call you a cab?" He offered, making it clear that she should probably leave.

She declined the offer. Was already punching a number into her phone. Offered a polite smile as she subtly inched closer to the door.

Jason beat her there, reached and opened it for her.

She was quick to exit. Paused, and looked back. "I hope your son is feeling better soon," she said, hugging herself against the evening's chill.

Jason held her gaze. Felt like he should be a gentleman. Offered for her to wait inside for her ride.

But again, she politely declined. Was already stepping away. "See you round," she smiled sadly.

Jason didn't miss the disappointment lining her tone. He felt bad that he couldn't reciprocate. "See you round," he echoed. Although in all honesty, he hoped not.

Hastily, he closed the door. He took a moment to lean against the doorframe, gather himself.

Clay stirred on the couch, groaned. Coughed.

Jason lunged for the trash can again.

But Clay cracked open an eye, waved him off. Tried to sit up.

Jason pushed him back. "Stay down," he ordered.

Clay's teeth were still chattering. He didn't argue – which in itself was a sign of how bad he was feeling. Lowered himself back down again.

Jason fished his cell phone out of his pocket, scrolled until he found Trent's number. "Remind me not to listen to you," he grumbled. "Next time you say you're fine."

Clay blinked guiltily. "Was fine," he protested weakly.

Jason ignored him, tucked the blanket around the younger man's feet as he pressed dial, held the phone to his ear. "Why on earth didn't you just call Trent?" he muttered. "I should kick your ass for driving here like this."

Clay let his eyes droop closed again. Took a shaky breath. "Dunno," he admitted quietly. "Kinda just came here."

Jason regarded his youngest man. Felt frustration well briefly within him. Felt it chased off by a feeling of warmth.

"Boss?" Trent's voice was tense in his ear. "Can't be good at this hour."

Jason sighed, eyes on Clay, who blinked blearily. "How quickly can you get here?" He asked tiredly. "Clay just fell through my doorway."

"Son of a -"

"He has a fever," Jason cut him off, scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Those antibiotics mustn't have done the trick."

Trent cursed again, muttered something indecipherable. "Be there in ten," he stated, before abruptly ending the call.

Jason removed the phone from his ear, threw it on the couch by Clay's feet. Reached down and removed the now warm cloth from Clay's forehead.

Clay stopped him before he could go and rinse it again. "Did you, uh -" His voice was raspy, words still slurred. He looked around, confused. "Was there a lady here?"

Jason noted Clay's muddled state, decided to take advantage. He was happy to forget about his evening with SarahSonia. "No ladies here, buddy," he lied, squeezed a smile.

Clay furrowed his brow, didn't quite buy it. "I thought …" His words trailed off, teeth knocking together as he paused. "I thought I heard you say you were my dad?"

Jason huffed a laugh. Tried to shrug off the comment. "Just the fever talking, kiddo," he answered, moving towards the sink and running the cloth under the cold water again.

Clay had heard that, huh?

Clay's eyes were closed again when Jason returned.

Jason crouched, carefully placed the cloth back on Clay's forehead. Noticed the slight flinch.

"Go to sleep," he stated, lowering himself the rest of the way to the ground and sitting with his back against the couch.

Clay mumbled something incoherent.

Jason reached back, patted his leg reassuringly. Glanced around the room at his basic, less-than-ideal house.

Maybe it would never be a home to impress the ladies. But, it was a home that Clay had sought out tonight, when he was hurting.

And perhaps, Jason reflected, that was all he needed.

Perhaps that, in itself, was enough.


	2. Clay + Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving reading everyone's fics! I feel like it's Christmas, with so many to get through :) :)
> 
> Thanks so much everyone for the encouraging comments! Here is one-shot #2 for Day 2 of Seal Team Week (prompt Clay/Trapped). This one is a little longer. Previous disclaimers still apply. Once again, thanks so much for reading :)

This op had gone to shit.

They'd HAHO'd into the small Afghan village, no problems. Had taken out the ISIL cell, no problems. Had made it to exfil, no problems.

But now Blackburn reported that their chopper was experiencing mechanical issues, was being forced to return to base. No back-up chopper was available. They were working on it, but in the meantime, Bravo would have to sit tight.

Jason cursed, swore, kicked at the sand.

Sunrise was staining the horizon – soon they would be sitting ducks.

Yeah, no deal.

Clay squatted alongside his brothers, feeling the nighttime cool rise from the desert earth, anxiety clench his stomach.

He squinted back in the direction of the village. Recalled seeing a couple of vehicles parked on the outskirts. If they hurried, they might be able to grab them before unfriendly reinforcements arrived.

Jason caught him staring. "Spenser, talk to me," he stated. "I can see that brain of yours working. Thoughts?"

Clay's eyes darted between his team leader, the rest of the guys, and the village. He readjusted his grip on his rifle. Shifted his weight. "Two small flatbed trucks," he replied. "Passed them as we left."

Jason chewed the inside of his cheek, tossing options, weighing risks.

"Anyone got a better idea?" Ray voiced the obvious.

Jason groaned, glanced in the direction of the vehicles in question. "Not easy to lay down cover fire from here." They were uncomfortably exposed, as it was.

"Guessing I could make it in less than three minutes." Clay mentally measured the distance.

Jason nodded, trusting Clay's calculations. "Okay," he said, shooting a glance at their dog handler. "Brock, you're the second fastest. Go with him."

Brock nodded, handed Cerb's leash to Sonny. Shuffled closer to Clay.

"If you can't hotwire both, just grab one," Jason ordered. Keyed his comms. "HAVOC, this is One."

"Copy, Bravo One," Davis' tense voice crackled back. "Still working on that replacement chopper."

"Yeah, about that," Jason replied, jaw clenched, frustration evident. "We're gonna try to grab some wheels. How's ISR looking?"

There was a weighty pause.

After a moment, Blackburn's voice returned. "All clear between you and the village. But we can't guarantee it'll stay that way. I'd strongly advise you hold your position."

Jason huffed. "Strongly advise?" He queried testily. "Or order?"

Another pause.

"Your call, Bravo One," Blackburn replied, placing the ball in their court. His tone was equally as frustrated as Jason's. "We're working on getting you guys out of there, but as yet I don't have an estimate on how long that will take."

Clay noticed Jason's expression tighten, his lips pressing into an even thinner line.

Eventually the master chief's eyes met his, and he gave a clipped nod. "We'll take our chances," he stated. "Five and Six are on the move. Standby."

Clay only half heard Blackburn's reply, was up and moving with the briefest glance at Brock, who mirrored his actions.

Together they ran, controlled urgency in their stride. Boots kicking sand, rifles clutched, dodging rocks and tufts of dried grass - painfully aware that they were silhouettes against the brightening sky.

Through sheer luck, they made it to the trucks unnoticed.

Brock worked on the first truck, while Clay covered him. Within seconds, the engine roared to life.

Brock jumped down from the cab, and they moved quickly to the second truck, repeating the process.

The engine coughed and stuttered, and for a brief moment Clay thought their luck had run out. He jumped into the cab as Brock darted back to the first vehicle. He revved the engine a couple of times, feeling relieved when the vibrations finally evened out.

"Moving," Brock's voice came over comms.

Clay threw the truck in gear, stepped on the gas, and lurched forward after Brock.

Headlights off so as not to draw attention, they sped across the desert in a cloud of dust, closing the distance between the village and their brothers.

Luck prevailed.

They skidded to a halt by their team.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason spoke as he threw himself into the cab of the first vehicle, along with Trent and Cerb. "We have wheels. We're heading back towards base."

Sonny and Ray piled in beside Clay, and Clay felt a bump to his shoulder as he gripped the wheel and stepped on the gas once again.

"Nice work, Goldilocks," the Texan said. "You got brains as well as balls."

Clay quirked a lip, glanced at his best friend. "You ever doubted me?"

Ray eyed his side mirror, flicked a look at his two team mates. "Hey now, we're not in the clear yet. Don't go celebrating."

As if on cue, Davis' voice broke over their comms. "You guys have company."

Sonny cursed Ray under his breath. "Now why'd you have to go and say that?"

"One vehicle leaving the village at speed," Davis continued. "Appears to be multiple armed individuals on board. They'll be on you if you can't move faster."

Clay felt his nerves prickle, stomach clench. The accelerator was already depressed nearly to the floor. They had made their way towards a road, but it was uneven, strewn with rocks, and dropped off sharply on the left side into a deep ditch. They were already traveling as fast as they could safely manage. The trucks weren't exactly in the best condition.

Ray, sensing their predicament, rolled down his window, and leaned out with rifle aimed.

Within another handful of minutes, Clay caught sight of the enemy vehicle in his rear mirror.

They bounced around, making it difficult for Ray to aim. Sonny cursed in frustration, unable to find enough room to turn in his seat. Ahead of them, Clay caught sight of Trent mirroring Ray's actions. He swerved slightly to the left, allowing Trent a thin corridor of room to clear their vehicle.

Gunshots rang out.

Enemy bullets pinged off their back bumpers as they urged their trucks faster.

Clay forced himself to concentrate on the road ahead, hold the vehicle as steady as he could to give Ray the best chance at a shot. Forced himself not to think about how easily it would be for one of those bullets to find its way through the narrow back window, into one of their necks.

More gunfire.

Clay noticed Trent disappear back into the cab, hoping like hell he hadn't been hit. Gripped the wheel tighter, heart pounding.

Ray popped off another handful of shots, and in the rearview mirror Clay noticed one of the tangoes' heads snap back as he toppled over, lifeless body bouncing as it hit the road.

Ahead of them, the sun was beginning to crack the horizon, dark orange rays reaching across the desert towards them.

Sonny tried once again to turn in his seat, but it was no use.

Ray popped off another shot.

Another body fell off the enemy vehicle.

And then it all went to hell.

One of their pursuers got lucky, and a bullet found their truck's back tire. Clay gripped the wheel against the sudden jerk, attempted to stop them careening. But it was near impossible, and they skidded, hit a large rock, flipped.

Clay felt the world thrown upside-down, a moment of weightlessness, and then the shattering of glass and the crunch of metal as the truck came down hard on its roof.

There was noise, mayhem.

An explosion?

Clay tried, but couldn't get his bearings.

Despite his best efforts, he blacked out.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Time passed – it could have been seconds, or it could have been years. Clay couldn't tell.

Next thing he knew he was blinking dampness from his eyes, a familiar voice in his ear, yelling his name.

His eyes refocused, and he realized with a start that he was hanging upside down, seatbelt constricted painfully across his chest, pinning him in his seat.

Sonny was upside down (or was he the right way up?) a foot away from him, hands on either side of his face, yelling. The Texan had a gash across the bridge of his nose, blood seeping from cuts across his forehead and cheeks.

Clay remembered their truck flipping, remembered racing from the village with tangoes hot on their tail. Groggy blinking turned quickly into wild glances, as he realized that they were still in danger. He didn't notice any immediate threats, but that didn't mean none were coming.

Through the shattered windshield, he could see his brothers; Jason helping an unsteady Ray up the embankment, Brock standing guard at the top by the second truck - rifle poised, Cerb anxiously whining and turning circles at his side.

"Clay?" Sonny again. "You with me, buddy? Gotta get you outta here."

Clay blinked at his best friend. Saw Trent beside him. They were both leaning carefully through the windshield opening, Trent smashing away the last bits of glass to gain better access to the cab.

Clay tried again to move, but the seatbelt was unyielding.

"Yeah, you're kinda stuck," Sonny explained. "Belt's jammed. We're gonna cut you loose. Just give us a sec."

Clay's eyes caught on smoke rising from engine. He felt panic swell within him. Swallowed it back down.

Sonny must have followed his gaze. "Ah, now, don't pay that any mind," he said tightly. Though his tone betrayed his own nerves.

Trent leaned into the cab, looped Clay under the shoulders, braced against the ceiling beneath him.

Clay's eyes met their medic's, and Trent offered his best reassuring half-smile. "I got you," he stated, holding tight. "Sonny's gonna cut your belt on three, and you're gonna fall into me, walk your legs down the back of the chair as best you can. We'll go out backwards."

Clay tried to process the instructions, clutched at Trent's forearms. Nodded jerkily.

There was a popping noise from the engine. More smoke.

"Move your asses!" Jason bellowed from somewhere outside. "Get him out of there now!"

Sonny didn't bother counting - slipped a small blade between Clay's hip and the belt, roughly jerked it through the strap.

Clay felt the pressure release, dropped gratefully into Trent's arms. Did his best to control his legs as they dropped, ensuring he didn't kick Trent.

Aches and pains shot through him as he was tugged backwards, through the windshield opening. Sonny scooped up his legs and they hurried away from the vehicle, just as the engine sparked and popped, sending a burst of flame and smoke skywards.

Clay wasn't released until they were up the embankment, beside the other truck.

Ass down on the still-cool desert sand, Trent was in his face.

Clay shook him off, adrenaline charging through his veins.

The sun had fully cracked the horizon, and they were still a good fifteen minutes from base.

"We gotta move," Jason commanded. "Let's go, let's go."

Clay pushed to his feet with Sonny's help. Allowed a battered and bruised Ray to help him onto the flatbed of the truck, where he sat beside the 2IC. Sonny climbed up on his other side, sandwiching him in.

"HAVOC, this is One," Jason barked into his comms, swinging into the cab beside Trent, as Brock revved the engine and sent them forwards with a brief spin of tires. "We're on our way. Everyone accounted for."

Clay didn't listen to the reply, instead focused on clutching the metal frame behind him, bracing against the jarring bumps of the uneven road.

In their wake, a smoking pile of wreckage lay mangled in the middle of the road. Clay blinked at it, barely recognizing it as the enemy's vehicle. It appeared to have been obliterated.

To his left, Ray blew out a breath, releasing a small laugh, eyes also on the wreckage. "Trent can be frightening with an RPG," he muttered.

At Clay's right, Sonny adjusted his grip on the flatbed frame. "Trent can be frightening, full stop."

Clay quirked his lip, swallowing jaggedly. He watched as the plume of smoke from their crashed truck also receded in the distance.

He could still feel the phantom constriction against his chest from the jammed seatbelt. Pushed the memory away. He eyed his two brothers, grateful that they were all still breathing. Absently he rubbed a hand over his bruised chest.

"You good?" Sonny eyed him worriedly.

Clay returned his hand to grip the frame. Nodded jerkily.

"Thank God for helmets," Ray announced soberly.

Sonny snorted. "And our hard heads."

Clay grit his teeth against the jarring motion of the truck. Scanned the road behind them. Prayed that they wouldn't have any further company.

They swerved slightly, narrowly avoiding an oversized pothole.

Sonny cursed under his breath. Keyed his comms. "Brock, your driving sucks. Give the wheel to Cerb."

Clay glanced over his shoulder, through the back windshield. Saw Bravo Five flick a middle finger towards them. Felt his lip tug into a smile.

Sonny missed Brock's gesture.

Clay returned his eyes to the horizon. His vision blurred briefly. He blinked rapidly, clearing it. He still buzzed with adrenaline, on edge and scanning for threats. But the rush was ebbing, and his mind was beginning to register more aches and pains from the crash. There was a sharp stitch throbbing in his side, trying to grab his attention.

But they weren't in the clear yet. They still had to make it back to base.

He pushed his mounting discomfort away.

Once they were there, once they were safe – then, and only then, would Clay worry about how banged up he was.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Luck prevailed once again, and they made it back to the base without incident.

However, as they triumphantly pulled through the heavily guarded gates, Clay's discomfort ratcheted up a notch and became near impossible to ignore.

His vision blurred, and his grip on the metal frame of the truck faltered. Thank God they were stopping. He wouldn't have been able to hold on much longer.

As the others jumped down from the cab, and Ray and Sonny shuffled to the edges of the flatbed, Clay sat trying to gather himself, steady his breathing, blink his vision clear. With a start he realized he was trembling and sweating. Getting down from the truck suddenly seemed monumentally difficult.

Adrenaline crash?

No. Clay knew better. With growing dread, he realized that his luck may have possibly just run out.

Trent was the first to notice something was wrong. He caught Ray by the sleeve, eyes widening at the large patch of blood staining Bravo Two's side.

But Ray shook him off, eyes also wide as he regarded his shirt. "I'm not hit," he shook his head vehemently, probed the area just to be sure.

Cerb had jumped up on the flatbed, was whining at Clay's side. Let out an abrupt bark demanding attention.

Celebrations immediately halted as all eyes snagged on Clay.

Clay, for his part, was fading fast. He sat slumped against the cab of the truck, trying to piece together what was happening. His thoughts darted and swam away, unable to be pinned down. Confusion and panic washed through him. His vision was dimming, and he didn't seem to be able to stop it.

Trent hastily jumped up onto the flatbed, followed by Sonny.

Clay's left side, where he'd been pressed against Ray, was soaked with blood.

Trent cursed himself for having missed that Clay was injured. He'd checked him for a concussion, had given him a quick once-over. But in the rush of the moment this had been missed. He swallowed down his feelings of dread and failure. Now wasn't the time to beat himself up – that could come later.

"Easy now," he instructed Sonny, as the Texan helped him lower Clay carefully onto his uninjured side.

Brock pitched Trent his kit.

Jason yelled for medical assistance. Jumped up onto the flatbed once Clay was laying down, squatted by Trent, expression grim. "The hell, Spenser?" he hissed. Shot a look at Trent. "Thought he was okay?"

Trent swallowed convulsively. "So did I," he grit, roughly cutting off Clay's vest, and then through the fabric of Clay's blood-soaked shirt. Everything smelled of copper.

Sonny sat by Clay's head, a firm hand on his little brother's shoulder.

Clay attempted to see what Trent was doing, but his body wouldn't cooperate. And Sonny's hand was like a ton of bricks, pinning him down.

"Stay down," the Texan ordered, words a little rough around the edges, worry evident.

Clay's half-mast gaze darted to Sonny, expression confused and apologetic at the same time. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn't come.

Sonny's gut flipped as Clay's eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp. "No – no, hey, stay with me now."

Trent hissed, immediately checked Clay's pulse – still there, but too quick. The younger man's breaths darted in an out erratically, his chest hitching. The fabric of Clay's shirt had been peeled back to reveal what appeared to be a large shard of glass wedged into his side.

Jason paled at the sight, swallowed jaggedly. "How the fuck did he not notice this?"

Trent worked quickly to stop the bleeding, didn't attempt to remove the object. "How the fuck did I not notice this?" he threw back, self-incriminating.

Sonny was still trying to rouse Clay, but it was obvious their boy was out. That didn't stop him trying.

The base's medical team appeared, rushing over with a gurney.

Trent shoved his guilt to the side and immediately began briefing them on Clay's condition.

Jason moved out of the way to let the medics work. Called to Sonny to do the same.

The Texan was reluctant to lose contact with Clay, but obediently shuffled back, hopping down off the flatbed. He stood, frozen, watching as strangers swarmed his best friend and transferred Clay to the gurney.

Davis stepped up beside him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Sonny flinched at the touch, darted worried eyes briefly in her direction, before locking them back on Clay.

Clay was whisked away, with Trent jogging alongside.

The others were left to mill around the truck, looking shell-shocked and lost.

It was Blackburn who snapped them out of it, pulled their attention back to the moment, his tone grounding.

"Leave your gear," he stated. "We'll debrief later."

Jason shot him a look, gave a slight nod of gratitude.

One by one, the remaining members of Bravo clicked into action, stripping their gear and tossing it into a pile by the truck.

"I'll meet you at the infirmary," Blackburn said stiffly, trying but failing to keep worry from his tone.

Sonny was moving before their commander had even finished the sentence.

Showers and food could wait. Right now, the only place they needed – and wanted – to be, was with Clay.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay had lost a lot of blood, but thankfully the nasty shard of glass hadn't managed to nick any major organs. It had penetrated his side at a sharp angle, missing his lung by only a fraction of an inch. The best guess was that it had come from the driver's side window of the truck when they had crashed. Adrenaline, and the fact that it was tightly wedged, had prevented Clay from noticing it. He had an impressive number of stitches, but the main thing was that he would be okay - with rest and an extensive number of painkillers.

Luck had prevailed, after all.

Clay had been in and out of consciousness for most of the day – mainly due to the blood loss and shock. His brothers had insisted on staying with him.

Eventually, when some of the medical staff complained about the smell, Blackburn ordered them all to take turns hitting the showers.

And then, as night approached once again, he ordered them to take turns sleeping.

An order – not a request.

There were grumbles, but the order was reluctantly followed. Now that they knew their boy was safe, they could relax just a little.

Blackburn watched them file out of Clay's room, Jason taking first watch over their youngest man. Each of them was bone weary, shoulders sagged, eyes red-rimmed. The formidable men of Bravo - a bunch of mother hens, whether they would admit it or not. And Blackburn knew that the same could be said of himself, since Spenser had come on board.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay woke a few times during the night, fuzzy from meds, not very coherent. He realized that he was in the infirmary, but it took a few times bobbing in and out of consciousness to piece together the chain of events that had led him here.

The fifth time he awoke, his bleary gaze found Trent sitting by his bed.

At first, the medic didn't notice Clay was awake. He sat, hunched forward on an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, turning something over in his hands.

Clay shifted slightly, trying to see what Trent was looking at – his movement against the sheets grabbing Bravo Four's attention.

Trent startled, straightened. Levelled Clay with an assessing stare – checked his pulse, oxygen levels, blood pressure. Once he was satisfied, he stood by the bed, one hand gripping the railing.

Clay had trouble pinpointing his team mate's expression, reading the emotions that danced briefly over Trent's features.

Eventually Trent sighed, gave the younger man's arm a gentle squeeze. Dropped back into the chair, shoulders sagging in what appeared to be exhaustion and defeat. The look didn't suit him.

Clay narrowed his eyes. Tried for his voice – failed. Tried again. "You okay?" It was a croak, at best, but the words made it over his lips so that was a win.

Trent quirked an empty smile. Shook his head. Scrubbed a hand over tired eyes.

Clay watched him, feeling uneasy.

Eventually Trent snagged something from the bottom of the bed. Held it up for Clay to see.

A zip-lock bag, containing a three-inch shard of glass.

Clay blinked at the item, confused.

Trent threw the bag atop a small rolling table that held a water jug and plastic cup with a straw. Blew out a shaky breath. "Seems you kept a souvenir from the stolen truck you crashed."

Clay swallowed, throat dry. Felt the pull and ache in his side. "Didn't … crash it," he argued weakly. "Was shot … off the road."

Trent huffed.

Clay's eyes were heavy, but he held the medic's gaze. "You blew them up."

Trent quirked a lip, eyes glinted for a brief moment.

Clay returned the splinter of a smile. "You and rocket launchers ..."

That pulled a shrug from the medic, a more genuine grin.

Clay breathed a laugh – but it was clipped, as the movement stole his breath.

Trent's expression sobered. Defeat once again settled over his features. He rubbed his eyes again, let his hand drop and linger over his mouth. Breathed slowly through his fingers. "I'm sorry, brother," he said eventually.

Clay furrowed his brow, blinked at him questioningly.

Trent dropped his hands to his lap. "I should have realized you weren't okay," he clarified remorsefully. "I checked you over too quickly. I missed the fact you had a fucking shard of glass stuck into you." His voice trailed off.

Clay was having trouble staying awake, but he was with it enough to see that Trent was being eaten alive by guilt. Willing his eyes to focus, he steadied himself as best he could. Pinned Trent with an unwavering look. "Don't beat yourself up," he stated. "Not on you. I didn't … even notice." To be honest, he was shocked by the size of the shard.

Trent's expression didn't shift, unconvinced. "It's my job," he replied flatly.

Clay's eyes drooped closed. He jerked them open again. Shook his head. No, no it wasn't. It was up to all of them to look out for each other. They were a team – and that's what teams did. "Not … on you," he repeated. He was so tired but willed himself to remain awake.

Trent sighed, leaned back in the chair, let his eyes drop closed for a moment. The defeat remained.

"Saved my ass … many times," Clay continued. "Best damn medic."

Trent huffed, gave a slight eye roll.

Clay was losing his battle against sleep. "Been told … I'm difficult." He felt the corner of his lip tug into a slight smile, recalling the many rants he'd received from the medic on his previous team. He managed one more unwavering look at Trent. "You've … never let me down."

Trent met his gaze. Held it a moment. His expression finally released a portion of the tension he'd been holding.

Clay relaxed slightly, feeling like he might have finally got through to his brother. Offered another slight smile.

Trent inhaled deeply. Blew it out. "I'd like to meet your previous medic," he said, a splinter of amusement in his tone. "Know how many years you managed to shave off his life."

Clay huffed, let his eyes drop closed. Felt sleep pulling him under. "Fair few," he mumbled. Felt a warm weight on his arm, a gentle squeeze.

"Get some rest," Trent replied, tone not as weighed down as it had been.

Clay tried to reply, but fatigue stole his words.

The gentle warmth remained on his arm, and Clay allowed himself to be pulled back into darkness – reassured by his brother's presence, and knowledge that he, and the rest of his team, were safe.


	3. Sonny + Whump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone reading these. I'm so grateful for all your lovely words! It really does make my day knowing that there are people out there enjoying my stories. Here is the last one-shot in this collection, for Day 3 of Seal Team Week. Prompt: Sonny/Whump. This one is the longest of the three :)

Clay knew they weren't going to make it to exfil the moment Sonny went down.

At the sound of his brother's grunt, Clay skidded to a halt, swinging his rifle around and sending a controlled shower of bullets behind them at the advancing tangoes.

"Three, Six – status!" Even through the crackle of their comms, the edge of panic lining Jason's tone was evident.

Clay didn't respond straight away.

Sonny was down, gripping his shoulder, scrambling to get his knees under him.

Clay lunged at his brother, scooping him roughly around his waist and heaving him off the ground.

Sonny had lost his rifle. Snagged his handgun. Made a valiant attempt to hold off their pursuers, though his aim was unsteady.

Clay ran for both of them, hauling his injured team mate along. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. The others were already at the chopper, were taking heavy fire. Clay and Sonny were still a handful of minutes away. Their team couldn't afford to wait for them.

Clay managed to key his comms between dropping bodies. "One, this is Six -" he panted. "Three is down. We're not gonna make it. Seeking cover. We'll sit tight til you can come back for us."

Leaning against him, Clay felt Sonny tense. They had possibly just sealed their own fate, but it was better than risking the lives of all their brothers.

Clay felt a bullet whiz past his helmet. Paused, aimed - eliminated that particular threat.

Sonny kept pace as best he could. "We go down swinging," the Texan grit. Let out a stifled groan.

Clay swallowed hard. "Not going down." He pushed past his rising fear. "Not today."

Not if he could help it.

Comms crackled, and Jason's stiff voice met their ears. "We'll be back for you." It was a promise.

Clay let a small smile ghost his lips, blinked sweat from his lashes. Carried on hauling ass, lugging his best friend. He didn't doubt it.

Gunshots continued to ring out. Clay heard the distinct sound of a chopper rising in the distance.

Their lifeline, drifting away.

Setting his jaw, he pushed thoughts of his brothers aside. He had to believe they would be okay. He had to trust they would come back. Right now, his only focus had to be Sonny and getting his best friend to safety.

Aside from the enemy hot on their heels, they were fighting daylight. They had completed their op, had acquired their HVT. But they had been pinned in the small Moroccan village by their HVT's not-so-friendly friends.

Clay and Sonny had decided to throw themselves into the line of fire as a distraction, providing an opportunity for the rest of the guys to make it to the chopper with the HVT. Jason would have their asses, for sure. But it had worked. And neither Bravo Three nor Bravo Six had any regrets.

"C'mon," Clay urged, taking more of Sonny's weight as they rounded the corner of a building, shards of stone pinging off their helmets as a bullet caught the corner of the wall.

By Clay's calculations, they were down to three armed men chasing them. He'd caught sight of them briefly in the moments he'd turned around. The men knew these streets better than he and Sonny, and by that measure had an advantage. Clay decided that his best option was to find some cover and face them head-on.

Ignoring Sonny's curses, he hauled his friend over a low stone wall, demanded that he stay down.

"Like hell I will," Sonny shot back. But his right arm was dripping blood, his aim uncontrolled. Even he knew that he was more of a target than a help right now.

Clay trusted his brother would see reason, keep low behind the wall. He pulled himself into a crouch, aimed his rifle, drew a steadying breath.

Three bodies hit the ground in quick succession.

Clay didn't have his reputation for nothing. He quirked his lip triumphantly, eyeing his friend.

Sonny glanced over the wall. Huffed. Shook his head. "I ain't feeding your ego," he grumbled, although his grumble turned into a smile, betraying that he really was impressed - and grateful.

Clay didn't allow time for witty comebacks. He once again slung an arm around his best friend's middle, hauled him up. Glanced at the rocky slope behind them.

They needed to make it up and over the top, as quickly as possible. On the other side, the landscape broke into rocky gullies and hills, with scattered trees and outcrops. It was their best chance of finding cover.

Sonny grit his teeth, allowed Clay to pull him up the small hill. They stumbled in a few places, but made it to the top. Clay turned every few steps to ensure they weren't being followed, rifle continually at the ready.

Once they were over the ridge, they all but slid down the other side. Clay urged Sonny along, refusing to slow down, desperate to put as much distance between them and the village as possible.

They zig-zagged their way along, up a few inclines, down a few gullies. Eventually they found a rocky outcrop perched high enough to spot any approaching threats, shadowy enough to conceal their presence. Panting and aching, they dropped gratefully onto the cool dirt between two large boulders, taking a moment to catch their breath.

Once Clay had steadied his breathing, willed his racing heart calm, he set about assessing Sonny's shoulder.

Thankfully it was a through-and-through. He fished gauze, bandages and antiseptic from his pack. Batted Sonny's hands away when the stubborn Texan attempted to perform first aid on himself. Forced Sonny to take painkillers and sip on water, ignoring arguments that they should conserve their drink.

"They'll come back for us," Clay said, wrapping Sonny's shoulder, conviction in his tone.

"Not doubting that," Sonny countered. "It's the when, I'm not so sure about."

Clay set his jaw, told Sonny again to drink. The older man had thankfully not lost copious amounts of blood, but any amount was too much in this heat.

Sonny grouched. Muttered something about Clay being a bossy little turd.

Clay ignored him. Tried his comms. "HAVOC, this is Bravo Six," he spoke. "Three and I are holed up approximately two clicks to the south-east of the town, using an elevated outcrop as cover."

Nothing.

Clay licked his chapped lips, mouth dry. Felt a twinge center-belly. Darted a look at Sonny. Pushed his nerves away, tried again. "HAVOC, this is Bravo Six, do you copy?"

Once again, silence met his ears. His gut repeated its twinge, and for a moment he felt lightheaded.

Hastily he shook off the discomfort. Now wasn't the time to panic.

Sonny blew out a slow breath, winced, and eased himself back against the cool rock. "Don't like the sound of that silence," he said quietly.

Clay keyed his radio again, even though he knew it was no use. "Bravo One, this is Six. Do you copy?"

Silence.

"Any Bravo element," he continued. "This is Bravo Six, do you copy?"

Nada.

"Looks like it's just you and me, kiddo," Sonny muttered, shifting uncomfortably. He screwed the cap back on his flask. "Seems we should conserve our water, after all."

Clay closed his eyes briefly, thoughts churning. He had to believe that his brothers had made it back to the base, that they would be looking for them as soon as possible. It was unlikely that they would return during the daylight, which meant that he and Sonny had to sit tight for at least the next nine hours.

Clay let his head fall back against the rock. The sun wasn't even high in the sky, yet he was sweating. Frustrated, he scrubbed a hand over his brow.

Beside him, Sonny tracked his actions. "You good?" The Texan queried, eyeing him carefully.

Clay waved him off. He didn't want to allow time to acknowledge the growing sense of uneasiness unfurling within him. He swallowed roughly, ignoring the pull in his gut. He'd probably strained a muscle, knowing his luck, lugging Sonny's heavy ass up the hill. He muttered that the Texan should lose a few pounds.

But Sonny didn't hear him, was leaning back against the rock, eyes squeezed closed, breathing through the pain.

Clay re-checked his team mate's wound, ensuring that the bandage was doing the trick and controlling the bleeding.

Sonny tried, but failed, to swat him away.

"You're a terrible patient," Clay grumbled, tempted to smack his friend's injured shoulder. Restrained himself. Shuffled back to his spot.

The day was warm and still around them, the rocks and the dry earth heating up. Thankfully all was quiet, and it didn't appear anyone had followed them out of the village.

"You should try to get some rest," Clay said, squinting into the glare. "I've got this." His rifle was across his lap, should the need arise.

Sonny looked like he wanted to argue. He stared at Clay for another handful of moments, before closing his eyes again with a curse and a sigh, his weapon loosely gripped.

Clay reached over and patted his leg. "I'll wake you if there's trouble."

"Or if the guys come back for us."

Clay huffed. "You're worried I'd go with them and leave your sorry ass here?"

Sonny's lip quirked. "Wouldn't put it past you."

Clay let out a small laugh, feigned offence. "That hurts, man."

Sonny didn't comment further.

Clay took a steadying breath, set about scanning the surrounding hills. It was going to be a long day.

His stomach twinged again, the pain lingering a little longer this time. He shifted, trying to relieve it. Eventually it let up. If he could, he would have got up and moved around, tried to stretch out whatever muscle was pulling. But it wasn't worth the risk of attracting any unwanted attention. He wished for an instant heat pack - but Trent was the one who carried those.

Clay concentrated once more on monitoring their surroundings, hoping to distract himself. Felt slightly nauseous for a moment. Pushed it away, figuring it was a combination of exhaustion and the heat. Glanced at his watch.

Only eight hours and forty-seven minutes until sun down.

Eight hours and forty-seven minutes to figure out how to let their brothers know where they were – or hope that their radios miraculously crackled back to life.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis' heart stopped the moment she heard that Sonny was down.

And when Blackburn gave the order that Bravo return to base, she felt like she couldn't breathe – despite agreeing that it was the right call.

And then when they couldn't raise Sonny or Clay on comms, she felt the ground torn from beneath her and she nearly lost it.

But she swallowed it all down, pulled herself tight at the seams.

She was a professional. Falling apart wouldn't help bring her boys back.

Instead, she threw herself into the task of scanning ISR for any sign of the missing men, desperate for some clue that they were both still alive.

None of them had any idea how bad Sonny's injuries were, and Davis' mind was wild with possibilities. If their comms hadn't gone to shit, then this would be a whole lot easier. They weren't exactly sure what was interfering with the signal, but they didn't have time to mess around trying to figure it out. They had to work with what they had - and work fast.

Like a violent storm, Jason tore into the makeshift command centre.

Davis glanced up briefly, not holding his gaze for fear that any time she spent away from her search was too long.

The rest of Bravo followed, looking worse for wear, radiating anger and barely controlled panic.

"Tell me you've got a lead," Jason threw at Blackburn.

The commander didn't flinch. "We're doing everything we can," he replied tersely.

Jason cursed, turned, punched the wall.

Davis swallowed roughly. Caught Ray's slight flinch.

Bravo Two was normally the voice of reason, but right now the cracks were showing. He made no move to placate his best friend.

Even Brock, normally quiet and calm, shifted anxiously, unable to stay still. Cerb whined by his side.

And Trent looked about two seconds away from completely losing his shit.

Davis processed the men before her. They were all distraught at having to leave two of their brothers behind. They didn't know that Sonny was more than a friend to her, and she couldn't tell them. Biting her lip, tears pricked her eyes. Hastily she pushed them away.

She needed to believe that Clay had got himself and Sonny to safety, that they weren't dead or captured.

Blackburn advised the guys go clean up, get some food.

His suggestion was, unsurprisingly, firmly rejected.

Davis shifted over as Jason roughly pulled up a seat to her right.

Ray leaned on the table to her left.

Brock and Trent hovered behind.

"We have work to do," Jason grit. "They're out there somewhere, and we're damned well gonna find them. And then we're damned well gonna bring them back."

The others murmured their agreement.

Davis was grateful for the extra sets of eyes. She wasn't surprised in the least by their determination. Willing her heart calm, she glanced at the clock.

Eight hours and forty-five minutes until sun down.

She swallowed jaggedly, her sense of urgency increasing.

Eight hours and forty-five minutes was way too long for Sonny and Clay to be out there alone.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

As it happened, despite their best efforts - and Jason threatening to go out and search by foot in broad daylight - they didn't manage to locate Sonny and Clay before nightfall.

But, as the sun sank below the horizon, Davis caught sight of what appeared to be a small, rhythmically flicking light, coming from one of the rocky hills south-east of the town.

Her breath caught.

Jason noticed the light a few seconds after she did, leaning closer to the screen to get a better look. He narrowed his eyes, watching for a moment, before a smile cracked across his lips. "Spenser, you good little boy scout, you," he muttered.

Ray was on his feet, also edging in for a look. After a moment he wore a smile mirroring Jason's. "Morse code?"

Jason whirled, whistled to Brock and Trent.

Davis felt hope swell within her. It most definitely was Morse code.

B3 B6.

Her boys were alive.

Blackburn straightened from where he sat, pushing his chair back and hurriedly joining the rest of them.

Davis noticed a minute amount of tension leave the commander's shoulders as he regarded the screen.

"Good enough for me," he stated, not managing to suppress his grin. He nodded at Jason. "Let's go get them."

Jason was already halfway to the door, the others not far behind.

Davis wanted so badly to go with them, to see with her own eyes that Sonny was okay.

"Comms are still down," she called after them. "Radio from the chopper when you have them."

Try as she might, there was no disguising the concern in her tone.

Tears once again threatened, pricking the corners of her eyes. She hurriedly swung her gaze back to the screen and the flashing light.

Hold on guys, she thought, watching the B3 and B6 repeat over and over.

We're coming.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay was halfway back to check on Sonny when he heard the distant thump-thump-thump of a rotor. He paused, hand on a still-warm rock, steadying himself as he listened, hope sparking through his chest.

The sound was growing stronger. Most definitely a chopper.

The chance of any unfriendlies having access to satellite feeds and choppers around here was slim, which meant that the approaching aircraft was more than likely their lift back to base.

Their brothers had found them.

He'd never doubted they would.

Ignoring the growing ache in his gut, slight tremors and sweats, Clay picked his way as quickly as he dared back to where Sonny waited.

"That what I think it is?" Sonny was a silhouette in the near darkness.

Clay muted the glow from his flashlight, began to gather their things. Couldn't help the grin from tugging at his lips. It hurt to bend over, but he pushed the discomfort aside. "I told you they'd see the bat signal," he replied.

Sonny huffed, allowed himself to be helped upright.

Clay took a moment to steady them, which didn't go unnoticed by the Texan.

"You alright there, Batman?" Sonny asked.

Clay brushed off the concern. Began moving them away from the boulders, back towards the top of the hill. "Just tired," he lied. A sudden sharp pain spiked through his gut, stole his breath. He bit his lip, pushed through it. Whatever he'd pulled, he would deal with it later.

Thankfully Sonny was taking most of his own weight, cradling his right arm close to his body. He didn't comment further – seemingly too focused on not tripping over in the dark.

Clay lit their way as much as he dared. He didn't expect that any unfriendly eyes would be watching them from here, but you never could be too careful.

The chopper's noise grew louder and louder, and as they reached the top of the hill they saw it approaching.

Clay flicked off his flashlight, trying to make out any markings on the metal bird that would confirm it was their brothers.

Beside him, Sonny seemed to be doing the same.

As much as they wanted to get out of this place, they weren't quite ready to give away their position. Not until they were sure.

The chopper hovered above the top of the hill, its light searching. Once the bright beam swung away from them, Clay was able to recognize the aircraft as military. With a quick squeeze to Sonny's good shoulder, he pushed himself upright, flicked on his flashlight to draw attention to their position.

Two ropes dropped from the chopper opening, and two harnessed bodies swiftly descended.

Clay pulled Sonny towards them.

Trent and Jason greeted them, the former quickly setting about assessing Sonny's shoulder.

Jason stood, hands on hips, relief battling it out with frustration across his features. He regarded Clay. "I have a lot to say to you two," he yelled over the noise of the chopper. "That stunt you pulled back there, both of you idiots acting as bait to draw the attention away from us, that absolutely cannot happen again."

Sonny scoffed, let Trent help him with his harness. "Saved your asses, didn't it?" He yelled back.

Jason didn't look impressed, but also didn't deny the fact. He narrowed his eyes. "There's a lot of hill running in your near future," he shot back.

"Ran up a few hills to get here," Clay argued, fixing his own harness. "They count?"

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Come on," Sonny grinned. "You missed us, just a little bit."

Trent signaled that Sonny was ready to go up.

"Just get in the fucking chopper," Jason grumbled. But for a brief moment, a small smile flickered across his lips. He leaned in closer to Clay as Sonny was lifted off the ground. "Good thinking with the flashlight," he said, patting him on the back.

Clay offered half a smile. "How'd you know that was me?"

Jason pinned him with a look, raised a brow. "I've known Sonny a long time – his brain isn't his strongest feature."

Clay held back a laugh. He loved Sonny, but he couldn't argue that Jason was right. He went to finish connecting his harness, but another sudden sharp pain through his gut had his fingers faltering. Somehow, he managed to breathe through it, and Jason didn't seem to notice.

What the hell had he done? He didn't want to feed the worry by spending any time thinking about it, but at the same time, it was growing harder to ignore.

Just get back to base, he told himself. Then figure it out.

Clay finished securing his harness. His hands were shaky, and he felt cold despite the lingering heat of the day.

Jason clapped him on the shoulder, gave a thumbs up to the guys above. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Clay nodded jerkily, blinked against a wave of dizziness. "Copy that."

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

When Blackburn got the call from the chopper that Sonny and Clay had been found safe and reasonably well - all things considered – Davis finally felt like she could breathe again. Her heart resumed a more regular rhythm, and the world shifted back the right way up.

She dropped into a chair with a heavy exhalation, leaning elbows on the table and covering her face with her slightly trembling hands.

Crisis averted.

She wasn't going to have to leave here with her heart in a flag-covered box, thank God.

Sonny was injured, but Trent had reported that it was a through-and-through to the shoulder. Davis swallowed back the lump in her throat, banishing the worst-case scenario thoughts that had been swirling through her mind since she'd heard that he was down.

A hand landed on her shoulder, startling her.

Davis lifted her eyes to meet Blackburn's, immediately noticing the emotion behind the commander's gaze.

They traded an exhausted but relieved bob of the head and half-smile.

"Let's pack this up," Blackburn said, clearing his throat and squeezing her shoulder.

She nodded jerkily, hastily wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. Pushed up from her chair.

Trent had said that Sonny would be okay to travel. They had already stayed longer than planned in Morocco and were more than ready to head home, now that their team were all accounted for.

She quickly set about shutting down laptops, collapsing their makeshift command centre. The chopper was about ten minutes out. The C-17 was fueled and ready to go. With any luck, they would be on their way within the hour.

She glanced around at the support personnel, everyone hastily closing up shop. The tension that had lingered heavy and tight in the air had been replaced with welcome relief. There was room to move again. To breathe.

Closing another laptop and pulling cords and cables, she drew a grounding breath, drew the remainder of herself together. The chopper couldn't arrive fast enough. Now all she had to do was hold it together when she saw Sonny, and make sure her reaction remained in the realm of professional.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Davis successfully didn't throw herself at Sonny when her boys arrived back at base. Although God knew she wanted to wrap her arms around him, hold tight until the last of the adrenaline left her veins.

She settled for a squeeze of his good shoulder, a brief clasp of his hand as he was helped from the chopper to the waiting C-17. She hovered as he was loaded onto a gurney, speared him with a reproachful look when he attempted to shake Trent off and insist he was fine. Stood by to make sure he laid his stubborn ass down and allowed Trent to start an IV.

"Quite the scare you guys gave us," she said, tone frayed around the edges.

Sonny's gaze met hers, emotions matched, and a hint of an apology lined his features. "Oh, you know," he'd replied, trying for casual - falling short. "Just decided we needed to see a little more of the countryside, have a bit of an adventure."

Trent rolled his eyes. Ordered him to stay put.

Davis desperately wanted to stay by Sonny's side, but she knew she had work to do. Lingering would draw suspicion. She squeezed his hand one more time, resisting the urge to lean down and kiss him. "I'm glad you're okay," she whispered.

He blew out an unsteady breath, offered a clipped nod. Moved his hand to briefly squeeze hers in return.

There was more she wanted to say, but it was neither the time nor the place. Instead she offered a tired smile, before pulling her shoulders straighter and redirecting her attention to her tasks at hand.

It took a great deal of effort for her to move from his side, but she managed it - the warmth and reassurance of his touch lingering on her hand for minutes after.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Once in the air and everything taken care of, Davis debated returning to the side of the gurney. The rest of Bravo were gathered on benches by their injured team mate, everyone enjoying a cold beer and a laugh – much to Sonny's annoyance.

"Come on," the Texan grouched. "Just one beer. God knows I've earned it."

But Trent couldn't be swayed. He shook his head defiantly. Took a swig of his beer. "No can do," he stated, unapologetic. "Painkillers and alcohol don't mix. Even the greenest medic knows that."

Sonny let out a string of curses, unamused.

"I'm sure you'll make up for it," Jason offered, swinging his bottle between his knees as he leaned forward.

"Yeah, well, you lot are buying when I do," Sonny argued. "Goldilocks and I saved your asses back there."

Jason's brow lifted slightly. "You nearly got yourselves killed. I don't owe you a drink – I owe you an ass kicking."

Sonny let out more curses, and the corner of Jason's mouth twitched into a slight smile.

Davis let her eyes linger on Sonny, before seeking out Clay. She owed Bravo Six a thank you for bringing Sonny back to her in one piece. But Clay was smart - her gratitude would draw questions. She couldn't thank him outright for saving her heart, but she could at least sit with him and have a drink.

Davis' brow furrowed as she regarded Clay. He was sitting at the end of the bench, slightly turned away from the rest of the guys. He held a beer but didn't seem to be drinking. His shoulders were stiff, and he held himself at a slightly awkward angle. Her eyes flicked to the rest of the guys, but none of them seemed to have noticed Clay's demeaner.

Deciding not to snag a beer, Davis made her way over to the bench and took a seat beside Clay.

He seemed startled by her sudden appearance, which was very unlike him, but he managed to cover it up with a tight smile.

Davis regarded him a moment, noting the pinched lines at the corners of his eyes, the set of his jaw. Despite the chill of the aircraft, he appeared to be sweating.

"You okay?" She probed, feeling concern tingle through her gut.

Clay did his best to shake the worry off, but his attempted casual shrug turned into a barely suppressed wince.

Davis shifted to face him, eyeing him, unconvinced. She reached out a hand to his shoulder and realized that he was trembling. Far too much heat was radiating through his shirt sleeve. Her concern tripled, and she moved her hand quickly to his forehead, confirming that he was indeed burning up. "God, Clay," she breathed. "I could fry an egg on you. What's going on?"

Clay winced again, pulling away from her touch.

She dropped her hand to his forearm, which was also ridiculously hot.

He groaned and hugged his middle, hunching over slightly.

Davis grabbed the still full beer bottle from his other hand and placed it on the floor before he could drop it. She gripped him gently by the shoulders, steadying him. "Trent!" She called, darting her gaze towards their medic, who was just about to take another sip of his drink.

Trent paused, startled by her tone, and the others quickly stopped their chattering to also glance in her direction.

Clay, for his part, squeezed his eyes closed and nearly toppled forward into her. He would have face-planted if she hadn't been holding him upright. He let out another groan, gritting his teeth and breathing jaggedly through his nose. His forehead dropped to her shoulder.

The remaining members of Bravo were on their feet in an instant, quickly gathering around her.

Sonny pushed against the straps of the gurney, demanding someone let him up.

Trent dropped to his knees on Davis' left, yelling back at Sonny to stay put.

"He has a fever," Davis reported, allowing Clay to keep his head on her shoulder and continuing to help support his weight.

"What's going on, buddy?" Trent said, placing a hand on the back of Clay's neck, pursing his lips as he noted the intense heat.

Clay couldn't seem to catch his breath. He groaned again, lifting his head from Davis' shoulder, and curled further in on himself. "Stomach," he ground out, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that his lashes were hardly visible. "Thought I … pulled something … but it's getting worse. Hurts so -" His breath caught before he could finish. Another groan, this one more like a sob, escaped his lips.

Davis was having trouble holding Clay upright. He seemed intent on folding himself in half.

Trent stepped in, taking Clay's shoulders and maneuvering him down onto the bench. He lay Clay on his back, but Clay's knees came up and he curled into a tight ball, rolling onto his right side.

Davis stood up, stepping back slightly to allow Trent space to work. She noticed that Blackburn had appeared. He lingered anxiously like the rest of them.

Sonny demanded to know what was going on, trying once more to free himself from the straps.

Davis shot him a look, willing him to stay down. She understood his concern, but they didn't need him opening his wound and bleeding all over the place.

Jason dropped to his knees beside Clay's head, taking over from Trent and holding the younger man's shoulders. "The hell, Spenser?" he said. But his words were empty of anger, heavy with worry.

Clay fought to maintain his balled-up state, but Trent managed to pry a knee away from his torso, slipping his hand against Clay's stomach and probing the area.

Clay let out a cry of pain, twisting away from Trent's touch.

Trent retracted his hand quickly, mouth set in an even tighter line. "Okay, okay," he soothed. "Easy."

Clay's chest hitched with jagged breaths. "Fuck," he grit, teeth clenched together, knuckles white as his fingers snagged Jason's shirt sleeve and he held tight.

"Trent?" Jason pushed, leaning closer to Clay as the younger man pulled on his sleeve as if trying to anchor himself against the pain that threatened to tear him away.

Trent's eyes darted briefly to Jason, before snagging on Blackburn. "We gotta get him to a hospital," he stated grimly.

"How urgent?" Blackburn stepped forward, cutting off whatever Jason was about to say.

Davis felt her heartrate pick up. Mentally she did the calculations on their current location.

"ASAP," Trent gave a clipped reply. He nodded towards Brock. "Grab my kit."

Brock darted off without hesitation, eyes bright with worry.

Davis met Blackburn's gaze. She swallowed jaggedly. "There's a base in France. Excellent medical facilities. We could be there within half an hour."

Blackburn pinned Trent with a look, as if seeking his approval.

Trent nodded, bit his lip. "It'll have to do."

Clay groaned against another wave of pain, and Jason did his best not to topple over as his shirt sleeve was tugged even harder.

"Let them know to have a surgeon ready," Trent continued.

Davis felt her stomach knot.

Blackburn raised a brow.

Trent raked a hand through his hair. "Given the location of his pain, and the other symptoms he's experiencing, my best guess is very badly timed appendicitis."

Jason swore under his breath.

Clay writhed around, nearly toppling off the bench. His eyes were still scrunched closed and his unruly curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. He looked much, much younger than his years. It was debatable whether he'd heard Trent's suspected diagnosis.

"He gonna be alright?" Sonny hollered, trying once again to get Clay in his line of sight.

Trent hesitated a little too long for anyone's liking, before replying tightly, "Judging by his level of pain, I don't think it's ruptured yet."

Brock reappeared and tossed Trent his kit.

Jason shifted uneasily, a protective hand on Clay's still hitching chest. "But it could, any minute, right?"

Trent nodded grimly, hastily opening his kit and pulling out a shot of morphine.

"Let's get that message to the pilot, and the French base," Blackburn stated.

Davis nodded. She caught Sonny's desperate gaze, and realized she was probably mirroring his expression.

How had things suddenly gone so bad? One moment they were celebrating, and now they were hoping against hell that Clay would be okay.

Trent gave orders, and Jason and Brock wrangled a still groaning and squirming Clay onto his side.

Davis averted her eyes a moment too late, as Trent roughly yanked down Clay's pants and jabbed the needle into his butt cheek.

Feeling her face flush, she hurried away to make the necessary calls to get the plane on the ground, and their youngest team member to a hospital before it was too late.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Clay drifted back to consciousness slowly. The first thing he noticed was the dryness in his mouth. He attempted to swallow a couple of times to moisten it, but his body seemed to respond one step behind his brain.

Cracking open heavy eyelids to slits, he took stock of his surroundings as best he could in his hazy state:

Crisp sheets.

The rhythmic beep of a monitor.

The automatic squeeze of a blood pressure cuff. The hiss as it released, and the beep of another machine.

The cool stream of air being forced up his nose.

And the God-awful smell of disinfectant, stale food, and bad coffee that could only be found in one place.

Clay groaned, raising his eyelids the rest of the way. He hated hospitals. He attempted to lift a hand, but found it was tangled in an IV cord. Tracing the cord with his gaze, he noticed the half empty bag of fluid. His vision was fuzzy around the edges, his thoughts floaty. He must be on some good stuff. Blinking up at the fluid in the bag, as if it would provide him with answers, Clay wondered what the hell had happened to land him in here.

"You awake there, Sleeping Beauty?"

Clay would know that Texan drawl anywhere. He shifted his gaze, expecting to see Sonny sitting in a chair by his bed.

But instead Sonny lay a few feet away, in a bed of his own – propped up on pillows, his chest bare, and a thick bandage wrapped around it and his right shoulder.

Clay's memory caught up, and the events of the past – how long had it been, exactly? He glanced around, hoping for some clue. The last thing he recalled was being with the guys on the C-17, heading home.

"Just in case you're wondering," Sonny provided, wincing slightly as he attempted to sit up straighter. "We didn't quite make it back to the States."

Clay blinked heavily, furrowed his brow. "We didn't?" He croaked, voice not quite working. He attempted to shift to get a better view of Sonny, but a pain lanced through his abdomen and stole his breath.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be moving around too much there, sunshine," Sonny cautioned.

Clay took a moment to catch his breath. More memories came back to him, and he recalled the pain he had experienced once they'd left Morocco. It had been excruciating.

Sonny must have picked up on his confusion, because he provided the answer. "You, my friend, have the worst timing, and the worst luck."

Clay darted his gaze across to the other bed. Lifted a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sonny snagged a paper bag from the table by his bed, rifled around in it. "It means you gave us one hell of a scare. And are now minus an appendix."

Clay processed the information. Appendicitis? Seriously?

"Only you, Goldilocks," Sonny muttered, fishing a pastry out of the bag and tearing off a bite. He held up the bag and shook it in Clay's direction. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you?"

Clay huffed, tried not to laugh. "Gee, I'm sorry," he replied. "Next time I'll be more considerate with my timing."

Sonny's lip quirked, and he held Clay's gaze for a moment. "I never did get to say a proper thank you," he said, tone turning serious and the smile fading. "You saved my bacon back there. You didn't give up, even though I was pretty sure we weren't gonna make it."

Clay thought back to their day stranded on the rocky hillside, radios not working and Sonny slowly bleeding out. It was a day he would happily forget. "You would have done the same for me," he stated.

Sonny nodded slowly. "Damn straight," he agreed. "But I'm not nearly as sharp a shooter, and I'm not confident I would have thought of the whole Morse code with the flashlight thingy. You're like a bad-ass MacGyver sometimes, you know that?"

Clay snorted.

"No, really," Sonny continued, tone genuine. "You did good back there, kid."

Despite the fuzziness of the drugs, Clay recognized the moment for what it was. "I'm glad you're okay," he said, feeling his eyelids droop. He wanted to go back to sleep, but something told him he had done a fair amount of that already.

Sonny popped the last bit of pastry in his mouth and grinned. "We're both here to see another day, that's the main thing."

Clay forced his eyes open, brow furrowing once again. "Where are we, exactly?"

Sonny swallowed his mouthful, made a show of smacking his lips. "France," he stated. "Military base, not far out of Paris."

Clay's eyes widened.

"Had to land in a hurry, before your nasty little organ exploded and killed you," Sonny explained.

Clay made a face.

"I have to say -" Sonny balled up the paper bag, aimed and threw it towards a trash can in the corner. Cursed when it hit the rim and landed on the floor. "The croissants are fucking amazing. Davis has brought me, like, three bags of the mini ones already."

Clay was still processing the fact that they had had to make an emergency stop, all because of him. He felt slightly embarrassed. He told Sonny as much.

But Sonny brushed him off. "Don't feel too bad," he stated. "Blackburn gave the guys some free time this morning, once we knew you were gonna be okay. None of them have been here, and Brock wanted to climb the Eiffel Tower."

Clay felt his embarrassment give way to disappointment. He'd never been to Paris either. Hopefully he'd have another chance one day. "You're not sad you couldn't go with them?"

Sonny huffed a laugh. "I have zero interest in climbing that tower. Nor seeing museums, or art, or whatever else it is people see when they come here." He patted his belly. "I'm happy with my buttery pastries, thank you very much."

Before Clay could reply, the door cracked open and Jason popped his head in. Upon seeing Clay awake, he threw the door open, giving the others permission to spill into the room.

"He really awake this time?" Jason asked Sonny, as he entered and approached Clay's bed.

"Yep," replied the Texan. "Goldilocks is back with us."

Clay blinked, confused.

Jason patted his arm, squeezed a smile. "Good to have you back this time, buddy," he said gently.

Clay's gaze flicked to Sonny. "Did I wake up previously?"

Trent approached and immediately set about checking Clay's monitors. Once content with his observations, he explained. "You woke up a few times after the surgery. But you had trouble coming out of the anesthetic. You were here, but you weren't here. Babbled incoherently, mainly. Only for a minute or so at a time."

"You said something about a monkey stealing your banana," Jason reflected, amused.

Brock stepped forward, wearing a ridiculous hat with a floppy Eiffel Tower on top, and a wide grin. "I'm sure he said 'Sonny', not 'monkey'."

Clay watched the Eiffel Tower bob up and down as Brock chuckled. He couldn't remember any of that. He felt his cheeks flush.

"You said something about chickens as well," Ray offered from where he leaned against the wall, grinning.

"Oh God," Clay breathed, closing his eyes. He would never live this one down.

He felt something placed upon his head, and cracked his eyes open again to see Brock leaning over the bed. "Hat's for you," Bravo Five said, adjusting it on Clay's head and offering another grin. "It's the least I can do, to say thanks for the pit stop."

Clay sighed. Returned the smile. "No problem," he muttered. He was too tired and sore to pull the hat off his head.

Blackburn appeared, and Davis squeezed into the room behind him. She smiled warmly at Clay, before tossing another paper bag at Sonny.

"Oh God yes," the Texan moaned, opening the bag and sniffing the contents.

Jason rolled his eyes.

"Come on," Trent said, motioning everyone back towards the door. "Let's clear out and let the doctor come and check on Clay."

Sonny snorted, taking a large bite of croissant. "Sawyer the party pooper," he said, words muffled around the mouthful.

Trent pinned him with a look.

Blackburn repeated Trent's instruction. "Come on, you heard the man," he said. "Let's find out when we can head home."

Clay caught the commander's gaze.

"As soon as he clears you," Blackburn clarified. "We'll be on our way."

Davis waited until the others had cleared out, before stepping up to Clay's bed and giving his leg a gentle squeeze. She produced a small teddy bear wearing the French colors, and placed it on the side table. "A get well present," she explained with a smile. "A souvenir from our unplanned stop."

"Hey, where's my soft toy?" came Sonny's complaint.

She turned and threw him a stern look. "You get pastries. Clay gets a teddy bear."

Clay smiled tiredly. "Thank you," he said.

Davis nodded, reaching up to remove the hat from his head. Gently smoothed down his unruly curls. "I'm glad you're still with us," she said.

"Who needs an appendix anyway, right?" Clay mumbled.

She patted his leg again. "That's the spirit." Her eyes flicked to Sonny. "I'm glad you're both still with us," she amended.

"Aw, did you hear that, Clay?" Sonny said, swallowing a large mouthful of food. "Davis loves us."

Clay watched as his two friends traded a look. He may have been pumped full of painkillers, but he didn't miss the affection that passed between them - the briefest flicker of genuine warmth that lit their eyes. It looked suspiciously like …

Clay shook the thought free, before it had a chance to properly take root in his mind. He was loopy on medication, not thinking straight.

He blinked heavily, eyeing his friends once again. But the look they had traded was long gone, and his eyes were barely staying open.

Davis noticed him flagging, rubbed his knee. "Get some rest," she suggested gently.

"Mmmm," he replied, too tired to form proper words.

As he let his eyes close, he found himself thinking that in another life, under different circumstances, Sonny and Davis would actually make a great couple. It was a happy thought, and a faint smile tugged at his lips as he drifted off.

He was already asleep when his two friends shared a quick kiss, foreheads leaning together for a moment afterwards – their secret still safe, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap from me :)
> 
> I'm off to enjoy reading the rest of the Seal Team week fics that others have shared :) It always amazes me how many incredible writers are in this little fandom!


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